


No Peace on Earth

by AnneAlanis



Series: Alien 3: The Final Bug Hunt [1]
Category: Alien Series, Aliens (1986)
Genre: Action/Adventure, Adoption, Alternate Universe - Aliens, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Angst and Feels, Beaches, Betrayal, Brotherly Love, Brothers, Confinement, Cute Kids, Developing Relationship, Drama, Drama & Romance, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Falling In Love, Family, Family Feels, Fix-It, Friendship, Friendship/Love, Geographical Isolation, Grief/Mourning, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, Isolation, Love, Marriage, Mountains, Music, Native American Character(s), Native American/First Nations Culture, Past Character Death, Pregnancy, Protectiveness, Recovery, Relationship(s), Romance, Sacrifice, Science Fiction, Sickfic, Suspense, Thriller, alien3isnotathingokay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2021-01-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 00:06:44
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 16,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25514005
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnneAlanis/pseuds/AnneAlanis
Summary: Alternative Universe of "Alien 3".Acheron is dust. The survivors of LV-426 think they have escaped the perils of the corrupt Weyland Yutani, finding peaceful solitude on Thehila: a colonized, military-based island where nothing but the ocean rises and falls. Freedom is found. Thoughts of the monsters named xenomorphs are buried beneath layers of love but are never forgotten. While the greed of man thrives, the new family's nightmares lurk to life. In this fast-paced romance packed with betrayal, suspense and sacrifice, Ripley and Hicks, bound by their new-found love, must bring humanity together to wipe out the greatest threat to their entire survival.
Relationships: Dwayne Hicks/Ellen Ripley
Series: Alien 3: The Final Bug Hunt [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1856395
Comments: 42
Kudos: 41





	1. Up Close

**Author's Note:**

> Greetings my fellow lovely Alien fans! Thank you so much for taking interest in this story!  
> Are you DOOMLY DEVASTATED about what happened to our favorite characters in Alien 3? Do you believe they deserve better? Are you looking for an entire series about our spunky space family defeating corporate bastards, xenomorphs and other nasty creatures at the same time? If your answer is in the likes of: YES PLEASE GOD YES, you've come to the right place! Join me as we venture into their new, peaceful lives on Earth-well, almost peaceful. Hehehe.
> 
> My general intention for this fanfic is a continuing story centering in on the blooming romance between Ripley and Hicks that was so beautifully planted in Aliens, only to be unfairly RIPPED APART in Alien 3. You can tell I'm still salty about Alien 3. Ripley and Hicks are a power couple. period. OF COURSE we cannot forget our lil angel Newt. There is no Ripley and Hicks without Newt. period.
> 
> Happy reading my friends!

_The world gleamed breathtakingly from far away...but everything’s different when you come up close._

In Gateway Station’s quarantine ward, time lay as paralyzed as a deer caught in the headlights. The clock on their nightstand blinked 8:30 A.M, but it felt much later; the sterile light of the infirmary room jarring, the air too clean to breathe. The potential discomfort of the room, however, brought no worry to Ripley and Newt as they sat relishing the newfound peace. They were alive. Better yet: together, they were on their way to living. 

_Living. What was it all about?_ A lot can change in fifty-seven years. Although resurrected from her artificial slumber, Ripley's spirit lay still sleeping, locked away in emptiness. Memories rippled back in her mind to the previous time she lay here, in a similar room in a similar bed, life drained of purpose. Surrounded by death, why was she left alone to live?

But by God, arms wrapped around her newfound, blonde gift from the stars, she knew now. 

It was a decent sized room. Plastic clad white walls and a small kitchen with a portable coffee pot _(thank the caffeine gods)_ and a hot chocolate attachment Newt wholeheartedly believed was the Holy Grail. Her little girl. They just didn’t get it, attempting to send her up to the pediatric ward alone _._ After some ruffling and a few hearty bite-marks, they got the picture. For now. The overwhelmingly intelligent physicians were gracious enough to quarantine them together. What was the difference to them? At first, the poor girl clutched onto Ripley, trembling with unease, but after a few hours and a good cup of hot cocoa, she returned to her lovely, inquisitive self. 

Now, Newt’s little hands pressed against the glass window as she stared out at the glowing, aqua Earth below them. The minute she caught sight of it, she never wavered her sharp gaze as if it would grow wings and fly-- _float_ away. So close yet so far.

“Mommy," Newt asked softly. There was that also, that beautiful name, the sound Ripley thought she'd never hear ever again, "is that _really_ where we’re going?” Newt's hypnotic blue eyes stretched wide against her tiny face. Brushing through her smooth, golden locks with a comb, Ripley decided that Newt’s external beauty almost matched her internal one. Almost. Nothing could compare to the youthful spirit of a child, that despite all hardship and trauma, still found the world exhilarating--even if that certain child lived on a parasite-infested rock their entire life.

“That’s home, honey.” Ripley said with a smile.

“It’s so, so..." Newt searched for the right words to match her amazement and leaned into the window farther. “ _Big!”_

Ripley chuckled, and it felt so good. “Sure is, baby.” 

“The blue parts are the ocean, the white parts are the clouds,” her fingers moved against the glass but slowed as she came upon the green patches intertwined with white swirls of clouds. “But what are those?” 

Ripley took her hand in hers, guiding her. “All of those shapes are the land where people and animals live.”

“How many?” 

“All kinds.”

Her tiny thinker paused. “But people and animals live on the ocean, too. Like dolphins, and sharks, and fish, and people on boats with big red sails. But I’ve never seen any of those in real life.” Newt looked down and fiddled with her thumbs. “Only in books.” 

If prompted, colonist profiters would rant endlessly on how colonization was vital to the longevity of the human species, but the prospect of not seeing the planet of their origin even once made Ripley’s skin prickle. It just didn’t seem _right_. _Building Better Worlds. What a crock of shit._

Ripley drew Newt closer. The girl snuggled deeper, warm despite the chill of the room, smelling clean.

“We’re going to see everything, right?” Newt said against her chest. 

“Everything,” Ripley promised. “Everything, and more.”

Newt’s smile stretched ear to ear, and Ripley couldn’t resist smooching her on that perfect head. That smile could melt a city made of ice.

It was over. No matter how often she told herself this, it didn’t seem true. Reality couldn’t be less real, normality a strange concept she couldn’t completely grasp. Hell, it would take time to adjust, they all would, but besides her little girl, the only one who could understand the forlorn feeling was--

_Hicks._

_“Why isn’t he waking up?!”_

_Oh God, Dwayne._

“Hellooooo! Good morning, girls!” A shrill, sickeningly sweet voice rang on the intercom, causing them both to flinch. “A special delivery from Nurse Alma! Orange juice, blueberry muffins, eggs, and dried fruit! _Yum yum yum yum!_ ” 

Ripley didn’t remember the medical staff being this...cordial. She glanced over to Newt, hoping she was at least enjoying the enthusiasm, but the smallest survivor narrowed her eyes on the door, her grip on her mother's arm tightening as Ripley reached to press the intercom button.

“Come on-” Ripley began, but the nurse barged in, her bulky meal cart trailing behind her.

“With a side of supplements, of course.” Alma grinned unbelievably wide, revealing arctic white teeth that looked too perfect to be real. She stood nearly as tall as Ripley herself, a long blonde braid neatly stretching down her side: the image of a deranged Rapunzel. 

“And how are we today, sweets?” 

“A bit tired, but just fine. Thank you.” Ripley gratefully took the warm plates.

“Always good to hear that!” Alma said. She knelt down to Newt's level, who lingered cautiously away. 

“Now. You’ve been such a good girl staying up here in the grownups room. Would you like a lolly?” Alma held out a bright green sucker. Newt reached out a hesitant hand to take it.

“Thank you,” she said, her voice barely a whisper.

“She finally speaks!” Alma exclaimed with a clap. “And what a _loooovely_ voice too! Make sure to eat all your breakfast before enjoying that, okay? Good girl.” She handed the last of the items and gave another unsettling grin.

“Enjoy! I’ll be back for lunch.” She turned to the door, but Ripley hurriedly stopped her.

“Oh, Alma, I don’t mean to keep you from your work, but, is there any word on the Corporal who was with us? Corporal Hicks? Is he awake?"

Alma’s impossible grin dimmed down to a somber smile, and Ripley’s heart sank deep in her chest. 

“Mmm...I’m sorry, I don’t believe so.” Alma said. “I’ll relay your request for a visit, although my leading physician, Doctor Payne, recommends complete isolation for testing purposes. Extended cyrosleep is quite the phenomenon, we haven't seen it in more than a decade!" She almost looked proud of the fact, but upon seeing Ripley's unmoved expression, she humbled down. "But rest assured, he's improving rapidly. All he needs is time. Don't worry, he's in good hands!” 

_Don't worry._ Easier said than done, but there wasn't any other choice.

Ripley crossed her arms and sighed _._ “All right. Please let me know if anything changes.”

“Right away, Miss. Ripley, right away! You have a good morning now!”

“You too, thank you.” 

Newt eyed the lime-green candy with suspicion sitting at the breakfast table. After a moment's speculation, she asked a question that turned Ripley’s blood stone cold. 

“Is Hicks going to die?” Newt's gaze was unnerving. Still.

Kids say the darndest things, but Newt was no normal kid. Ripley dropped her fork, took her hand and gave a hearty, comforting squeeze.

“No, honey. I don’t think so.” Ripley hoped to God she wasn't lying. 

“Good,” Newt nodded and gave a small smile. “I like him.”

Ripley smiled through her pain as she spooned scrambled eggs onto her new daughter's plate.

“Me too.”


	2. In Dreams

**"Corporal _Dwayne Hicks 22404215E9. Distress. My unit has suffered immense casualties on LV-426 and requesting immediate assistance aboard the USS Sulaco. Survivors: myself, 2 human females, one of which is a child and a damaged Synthetic. Consider all Colonial Marines dispatched to LV-426 to be K.I.A. Repeat, all Marines dispatched to LV-426 were K.I.A."_**

***

It was a simple realization.

_I’m on fire._

Like an unwanted lover, fictional flames crawled up his arms and face and ate away at his flesh with fervent desire. With a sleeping hand, Hicks patted at the pain, only to feel a fiercer, searing agony in return. He recoiled into a tight ball. Something terrible weighed his body down, trapped into the flaming Earth. He tried to open his eyes--only one provided him sight. He tasted blood, sour and potent in his mouth. Billows of smoke sucked out any breathable air flaming Earth. 

Stop drop and roll. Such simple words that were so unreachable now. _Stop drop and roll my ass!_

Cobbling to his knees, he stumbled a few feet before the pain butted into his bones like a raging bull. He collapsed back down, desperately gasping in the burning darkness and coughing out the haze. 

So this was no simulation.

So this was hell.

Where the hell was his squad?!

Through the monstrous heat: movement. A flash of sharpened gloom. A hiss. Hicks felt around the hot ground. No gun. But the mission was crystal clear: with the strength he had left, his only priority was getting Ripley and the girl out of this goddamn place. No questions. He had to move and he had to move fast with or without mechanized support.

Another growling snarl, scuttling from his left and right. Relying on intuition, he twisted himself onto his belly and army crawled, ignoring the intense dizziness as he spluttered and inhaled the bloody smog. There it was. The asshole pulse rifle that saved his life more times he could count. He spotted it’s muzzled shape a few feet ahead, untouched by disaster. So close, he’d make it, he’d make it if he just--

A solitary foot dangled out of the blackness above him.

Hicks craned his head.

Vasquez...Hudson...Apone...Dietrich...Drake...the assholes. The big-shots. The people. His people. Caked in the visceral walls of the doomed inferno that surrounded them. Their skeleton faces stark. Blaming eyes bulging. Jaws loosely dropped in open. Dead mouths. They could not speak, but even so, he heard them. Their moans of fatality.

"Please..."

_“Traitor.”_

_“Why did you leave us to die?”_

_"Kill me!”_

_No!_ He wanted to scream, tell them anything, everything but his voice was never there. _There's still time! I'm going to save you!_

_“You can’t.”_

A shriek trembled the ground of ashes, breaking him out of his agonizing stupor. It was the defining sound of terror: the sound of a dying girl. 

“HICKS!” 

_Newt._

“ _Over here, we’re over here! HELP!_ ” 

Another soul-splintering scream tore through the darkness.

 _“_ Stay where you are! I’m coming! _”_ Hicks shouted, knowing his voice was no use against the shrill noises of terror. The entire flaming world shuddered and trembled as he fought against the thick heat, _the gun, the gun the gun get to your gun!_ He crawled through faster, the pain and the heat so enraptured in him he tasted it, but he was so close, so close...his fingertips brushed the handle--

And a burst of blaze blasted him away. He felt himself flying in midair before his back jolted against the soaking wall. He heard bones crack and return to ashes inside him. Worse than pain, he felt nothing. No air. No breath. Knocked flat. His ears rang with a pulsating screech. The mangling, vicious roars of the gathering monstrous predators drown out Newt's distant wails. Dark bruising spots flickered across his remaining sight. And he can't give in, he refuses to give in...

" _Dwayne_."

Another voice resounded, forcing Hicks's mind to piece itself together. A voice hardened by the cruelties of grief yet never lost its unique tenderness. A mother’s soothing coo and protective growl. One wind-like breath of a voice that commanded the chaos to calm, that sent all oblivion, all foul feeling to dust. It would be the voice that would haunt his dreams until the day his eyes shut forever.

There was a light. A brilliant and cool pureness that enveloped the molten ground into a blanket of shining air. The world bathed in its glory, and he washed along with it. No pain. No care. What was his name? Nothing mattered but what he floated on now: an invisible sea of purity, untouched and clean. 

The voice whispered his name again. It was comforting, gentle, safe in his ears. Warmth surrounded him like a loving embrace, holding him close. He could not see. he could not speak. But through the shine he felt a presence he recognized but couldn't comprehend--a woman's, but not just any woman's. He was hers, and she was his. It was _she_. _She_ melted into his mind. _She_ held the secrets of long and lost life, suffering and living, war and peace, love and heartbreak. She glowed as deep as the stars. How he wanted to vanish into her...be lost in the love that filled his being. To be lost in her bliss.

Hicks spoke her name, but still carried no voice of his own. In his heart he kept it and repeated it again, and again, and again, its sound dissolving into a color of her word that raised him into her existence. Nothing else mattered. 

Who was it speaking over the peace? Far away. _Ghosts_...

_“Sedate him! Sedate him, goddammit!”_

_“But, Doctor, he’s--”_

_“No use now! We're losing him!"_

Limp, weightless, so free, too free.

***

Flowery humming filled his ears, pleasant despite the deep pounding of his heart. Paleness burned his sight as one eye fluttered open. The other throbbed like hell and remained lost. In fact, that entire side of his face stayed drained of feeling. His tongue felt too large in his mouth and his mouth tasted of ass, but there was no...smoke. No hellfire. No ragged faces in the burning doom. It smelled like coffee and heavy antiseptic, not death and decay.

Hicks coughed up something that tasted like burnt rubber. _Hospital._ A lithe, blonde nurse adjusted something by his side. Numbness slugged up his left arm, which held upright connected to a web of frightening wires. He anchored his head to see a gaudy bouquet of plastic tulips, peculiarly wilting in front of a large, silver window. There he saw a glimpse of the glowing Earth.

It was too cold. He shivered violently as if covered in snow instead of infirmary bedsheets. His head was too heavy, everything was too damn heavy. Lips were rubber. But he still felt a word in his mouth--not a word, but a name--a warmth, desperate to be spoken into the world. Hicks cracked out a single, solitary rasp:

“ _Ellen_ …” 

The nurse stopped her tune and jumped a little, startled. "Well, well! Look who's finally awake! Good morning sir. Welcome to Gateway Station!” A dazzling smile spread cheek to cheek across her youthful features, yet something unsettling moved behind her eyes. Fear. Even so she resumed her work on his limp arm.

“How are you feeling?”

Hicks fought through the thick fog. It was everywhere. The entire world was shrouded in a conundrum of blurs and headache. He attempted to sit up, only to have the nurse hurriedly press him back down.

“Oh dear, please do not move, Corporal Hicks. I am in the process of finishing the last of your mechanical graft. You were badly injured--severely burned, that is, when you arrived. You are connected to an I.V, and are bandaged on your left eye, surrounding skin, neck, chest, forearm, and left arm. Not to worry, Doctor Rufus Payne will check on you momentarily and fill you in with the details."

Graft. Was he burned? In the fire, of course--no, acid. One of the damned things sprayed their death blood onto him...but where was Ripley? His mind ached as his thoughts flew and muddled together into a puzzle with mismatched pieces. He passed out on the dropship. Bishop gave him another shot for the pain...yes, he had passed out...

_“Hicks, don’t let him leave!”_

_“We ain’t goin’ anywhere.”_ he said. And they hadn’t. 

A tortuous wave of nausea flushed over him followed by a wracking of chills. Bishop couldn’t disobey direct orders; it wasn’t in his nature, programmed or not. Unless..

Hicks swallowed hard and forced his lips to form at least some form of intelligible speech. 

“There were others. A woman. Officer Ripley. And Newt--a girl, a little blonde girl…” He grimaced. “They made it too?”

An abrupt buzzing noise interrupted them, and the princessy nurse pulled out what he guessed was her pager, tapping rhythmically as she spoke.

“Let me reassure you, Corporal Hicks, that everything is just _blissful_ this fine morning!" She smiled easily at him. "Do excuse me for a moment, I have to fetch your meds!”

With his hand that wasn’t seemingly detached from his body, he snatched her arm before she could turn away.

“Please,” he begged. “Just tell me they’re here, at least.”

Again, that flash of--was it fear? Pity? No..now it was disgust hidden in her phony smile. Her mask was no use, over the years of being an unsavory shit grunt, it was easy to spy it out in any soul.

Smoothly and swiftly she removed his hand and chirped, “one moment, please!”

Hicks was alone. Alone with the hungering thoughts. Alone with the pain. The numbing effect fading, flame-like heat wafted up from the tips of his charred fingers to his bandaged brow, a buzzing throb resounding from the back of his head. The world spun. Nausea came into his gut, hard enough to make him lean over and heave a liquid that burned into the metal basin next to him. He recovered after a few pausing moments to see if his primarily empty stomach had anymore bitching to do. He collapsed back onto the bed, trembling. 

He tried to think of the woman. He can't. Even the things in his mind were distant, locked away in sanity.

Voices resounded outside his door. Orderly voices. Hesitant voices. Thrilled voices. Some sort of commotion. The minutes passed felt like hours, and as the door creaked shyly open, he held his breath.

 _Please._

It was none other than Newt that poured in, yellow hair flying, looking as sweet and strong as a dandelion in spring. He could not explain the heaviness that lifted from his heart as Newt sprawled on top of him in an unwieldy yet tender embrace. He half laughed, half groaned at the ache, but damn it, were those tears rising to his eyes?

"Boy am I glad to see you." Hicks croaked. His throat felt like shreds rougher than sandpaper.

"Newt, wait!" Someone called. Hicks craned his head to look as another figure entered the room. 

The light. The heat. And the face inside the light--dulled and blurred in his hazy mind bursted like a golden flower in full bloom. As Ripley approached his side, sighing in releasing relief--it came back to him now. In her smile he found the light. And she smiled at him, fine as hell with those eyes, those brown, tough eyes catching his. 

"Hello, Dwayne." She said softly. 

With what strength he had, Hicks grinned a true grin. _Don't be gone long.._ _._

" _Ellen_." How wonderful it felt to say. "We nuked the site from orbit?”

Ripley’s eyes shone. “It was the only way to be sure.”

*~*~*~*

They were a little bruised, a little battered. But in better shape than he was in, and thank god for that--but he had to be sure. Not all wounds were visible, after all. Hicks looked to their little rescue and brushed a few strands of blonde from her face. “You guys okay?” 

Ripley waved a hand. "We’re just fine. Bishop too. He’s in repairs right now, they wouldn’t let us see him, of course. Or you.” Her pretty brow furrowed as she scanned over him. “How are you feeling?”

Hicks waved an able hand, hoping to mask the overall throb his body became. “It's not too bad. I've had worse.”

He couldn’t fool her, and he knew it. Ripley reached over to the medical stand over his bed. She picked up the thermoreader and her dark eyes widened.

“Jesus, Marine. A hundred and four degrees?”

Hicks shrugged and smiled reassuringly, but even his lips felt sluggish.

“Don’t worry about me. The nurse said I’d live...I think.” The oddness of the woman eluded him, but he didn’t dwell on it. There was only one woman that dwelled in his thoughts, and she was luckily next to him, so close Hicks smelled her familiar scent: earthy, leather, midnight. He exhaled.

“How long was I out?”

“Two days.” Ripley said uneasily.

Hicks groaned. “God, they really don’t tell you squat around here, do they?” 

“I know how you feel." She said, pursing her fine lips into a fine line.

Newt propped her head up. “Hicks, we have a hot chocolate machine in our room, and so do you! Mommy taught me how to use it. I can make one real good. Will that make you feel better?”

All squeaky clean and bright in her tiny white pajamas, the little survivor looked like a different person now. He supposed she was. He could still remember the scrawny, grimy kid that had bit his hand out of sheer fear and instinct. She was damn cute, even then.

Hicks swabbed her nose affectionately. Newt giggled.

“Ain't you smart. That's just what I need.” He said.

Carefully, Newt slid off the bed and scampered over to the mediocre kitchenette. He watched her go, then returned to Ripley’s slight smile: so unsettled, but relaxed. So serene but with a twinge of sorrow. The mysteries behind those lips he desperately wanted to discover. What were they telling him?

The cold pain panged back to him then, so hard he could taste it, so hard it made his empty gut scream. He clenched his teeth to keep them from jittering and cursing indecently. No doubt he was a hellish mess, but the last thing he wanted to do was hurl on himself if he could help it. 

"How-” He started, but his damn breath caught in his dry throat and he started coughing up his left lung. _Real sexy._ He leaned to pick up a sweating water glass on his bedside table, wincing as the bandages stretched under his charred flesh. 

“You’re shaking,” Ripley said softly, her features twinged with worry. “Here. Let me.”

She pressed the glass to his lips. He drank gratefully. Even with impaired sight, he noticed now her long, skilled fingers and roughened hands--not of a delicate maiden’s--but beautiful, beautiful hands that could handle herself.

How long had he been mindlessly staring at her? But she was staring at him too. Was she lost in him, like he was lost in her? If he lifted his head just a bit more-- _stop_. He wasn’t an asshole about to latch onto her like some drugged, horny leech, and they’d been through enough shitshows without adding unnecessary mortification or premature advancement to the list. So out of his wits, so out of his own control, he couldn't trust himself. Still, she was so…so...

The shattering of glass made them both flinch.

“Oops.” Newt softly uttered. 

“I--better go help her.” Ripley laughed a bit, unhurriedly pulling away. 

“No need.” 

“Bishop!” Newt cheered, dashing to embrace him. He stood just near the door, looking well besides the lower region of his body still a shimmering exoskeleton. 

“I seem to have lost my legs.” He looked rather pleased with himself at that. 

“Glad to see you’re still kicking, Bishop.” Hicks said with raised eyebrows. He certainly had more questions.

“Glad to see you’re no longer comatose, Corporal. You gave us quite the fright."

The blessed quartet was here, the symbol of heroic hope. Albeit high as shit on the _Good Stuff,_ every breath came easier as she was here, next to him, with her sweet eyes and her sweet breath and her dark bundle of curls and her sweet and sturdy hands. The world was still. While Bishop and the tiniest survivor conjured up sweet drinks, Hicks turned his head once again to Ripley to let her features sink into his gaze, let his heart warm and his body cool.

“Now tell me everything. Everything that went down.”

Her grin was more heavenly than her smile. "It's quite the story..."


	3. You Saved Mine

“Remarkable.” Dr. Payne breathed as he peered down Hicks’s singed cornea with a medical flashlight. 

“How remarkable indeed!” 

_What’s so remarkable about your face nearly melting off?_

Ripley bit her tongue. At least now there wasn’t a wall to wall mob of curious physicians, eager to examine the bedridden marine as if he were a specimen under a microscope. Just one: a stick thin, older man with thick, big-foot eyebrows that umbrella his cold gaze. She hated how he studied the ragged gnarls of Hicks’s battle burns with enraptured, scientific glee. He wasn’t some goddamn science experiment, but nobody seemed to care.

Ripley felt her heart in her gut when they first removed the dressings, revealing inflamed flesh with blistering, cavernous sores that veined from his chest to his brow. She didn’t know how, but Hicks looked _worse_ than before, pale and gaunt like a plague patient, handsome features locked in a never-ending grimace. Yet, through it all, there remained a warmness about him that comforted her, set her mind at ease. They would be okay. Even if the Company hadn’t even bothered to bother them yet. Yes, the officials were too quiet, too civilized, too courteous; that meant they wanted something, and they wanted what they couldn’t have. She didn’t look forward to their upcoming debriefing. Just the thought of weathering, angry businessmen shouting over each other gave her a migraine.

Woozy Hicks, operating on a plethora of painkillers, thankfully carried few worries about the near future, his available eye bugging out at her in disbelief. 

“ _A queen bug?!”_ He mouthed to her again, grinning loosely. “Holy shit. Holy-” He drew in a sharp breath as Payne injected a thick needle into his forearm. 

Payne grunted an apology. "That one always is the bugger, but it should tame that pesky fever.” The shrewd doctor leaned back and stroked the wisps of his reddish beard, contemplating.

“Just fascinating,” he mused. “The acidic substance devoured through every layer of skin. I haven’t seen anything like this save for a recent chemical disaster: a hydrofluoric molecular acid _explosion_. It wasn’t pleasant, to say the least. Cost the Company thousands! Tell me, Corporal, what do you see when I flash my light left and right? Anything?”

Hicks squinted with effort, his left eye red as blood, his pupil an opaque, lost gray. “Darkened blurs, mostly, like I’m looking through a foggy window. I can make out some shapes, darks and lights.” He paused. “Is it toast?”

Payne made a strangely comforting noise in his throat, shaking his head. “It seems whoever cared for these wounds upon receiving them managed to prevent any permanent sight damage. The fact that you can still see _anything_ is an encouraging sign.” 

Hicks blew out a breath. “I owe you one, Bishop.”

“Just did all I could do.” He called humbly, demonstrating the milk frother to Newt who followed every rapid move wide-eyed. Such a unique sensitivity was built inside of the humanitarian android, so opposite of that bastard _Ash_ they were of a separate species. If the little girl who managed to survive through that Hell alone trusted him, Ripley could damn well too.

“However, I am still tentative about your current state: before awakening from your medically induced coma, you nearly seized, as I believe you had a negative reaction to the administered drugs to fight your infection. Your lungs have also been through quite the war; your throat swelled shut the first night you arrived and we had to insert an intubation. You will remain here for a few extra days for evaluation.”

The hairy physician glanced briefly over an opaque medical scar sheet of what Ripley guessed was Hicks’s facial diagram. Bright red marks slashed against the entirety of the right side. Payne clucked his tongue.

“Good. I detect no bone degeneration, and you’re young and strong. You’ll be exhausted for a long while, but I have no doubt you’ll fully recover provided you take the prescribed medications and rest.” Hicks nodded and winced as Payne began to wrap clean bandages around his wounds.

“But I still don't understand--why didn’t he wake from cryo like the rest of us?” Ripley asked, breaking her steady silence. “The pod didn’t malfunction. What went wrong?” 

Dr. Payne looked perplexed. “The only explanation I can conjure up with is that the wounds were so severe the body needed time to recuperate. I personally like to say that sleep and laughter are the best medicines, but morphine comes as a close third, no?” Dr. Payne chuckled, wheezy and frog-like in his throat, then trailed off. 

“And luck seems to be on your side. The acidic substance did not upset your epithelial nerves, which explains why you haven’t gone blind in your right eye. Unfortunately, even with skin grafts, there will be major scarring. I suspect you will regain total mobility in your arm with time. I recommend a corneal transplantation for optimal vision results, which can be operated mechanically.”

“Dandy. But how much is this all gonna cost?” Hicks said with a narrowed eye. He smiled broadly and nodded a “thanks,” as Newt handed him a steaming mug. 

The doctor waved his hand. “Ah, I wouldn’t worry about such things, Corporal. All of your medical charges are covered courtesy of Mr. Charon for your troubles.”

“Charon?” Hicks sat up a bit, tense, breaking out of his muzzled stupor.

“He is the new CEO of ICC and our Bio-Weapons division, along with his representative partner, Georgia Welles. Of course, you’ve probably heard of them. Charon is quite an impressive, intelligent fellow. Made a few positive changes around here!” Payne lifted his blinking pager and nodded to himself. “Right then, I’ll return to see how you are feeling in a few days. May I schedule the operation?”

Hicks sunk down, eye blearily searching something unseen.

“You know what’s best, Doc.” He coughed.

“Excellent.” 

Before Ripley could open her mouth to inquire about the new management, the singsongy nurse popped in, flashing her ostentatious smile. 

“Pardon me, Doctor Payne, I’m here to authorize the prescriptions. And er, Mr. Bishop,” her eyes flickered to his metallic legs. “I’ve also been messaged you’re needed back at repairs.”

Bishop nodded, making his creaking way to the door, Newt solemnly trailing behind him.

“Get well soon, Hicks. See you all around?” 

“We’ll be here,” Ripley said, folding her arms around the little blonde. Hicks looked paler than before, hazier, stuck in a place she couldn't reach. Absentmindedly, he massaged his bandaged chest, then snapped out of it with a wincing jerk. 

"You okay?" Ripley frowned.

Hicks nodded. "Right as rain. Hurts a little more than before. I think I'm coming out of the morphine cloud." He sighed. 

“Nonsense, that can’t be right. These damn things.” Payne muttered, jabbing away at his pager. He motioned the fair-haired caregiver to him with an impatient flick of his hand. 

“Nurse, the mafenide dosage requested is enough to make Bigfoot overdose. Must be another electronic mistake. Order it again for me, please.”

“Oh, well sir,” Alma teetered on her heels nervously. “I do not mean to overstep myself, but are you positive the numbers are incorrect? Doctor Robertson was rather adamant about-”

“Robertson can report any concern to me if he is so inclined,” Payne replied tartly, rising to stand. “While you’re at it, schedule the next corneal transplant available.”

“Right away, sir.” The nurse looked to the floor as she retreated away.

Ripley seated herself in a chair. _Charon. Charon._ There was nothing. 

“Have you heard of this new CEO before?” she turned to Hicks, who still muddled on the mysterious name. "This is all new news to me."

Hicks frowned and shook his head. “He sounds familiar. But for the life of me, I can't think where I know him from.” He glared frustratedly down to his mug. “Guess we’ll find out soon enough.”

“The doctor does not like Miss Alma.”

Newt sipped at her hot chocolate, dutifully close to Hicks’s side.

“You think so?” Ripley ran a hand through her fine hair. “Why?”

The bright youngster shrugged. “He didn’t ever say please when he asked her for something. Why doesn’t he like her?”

Ripley paused at that. "Sometimes, people are not as nice as they should be.” She finally resolved.

“Like the doctor.”

“Right.”

Newt downed the last of her warm drink. With a child's solemn stare that seemed beyond her years, she asked, “Hicks, they’re not going to hurt you anymore, are they?” 

“No, darlin’,” Hicks brushed her cheek with a knuckle, wiping away her cocoa mustache. “I think the worst is over.”

*~*~*~*

The many days that passed Ripley made sure Hicks was rarely without company. As his strength and color returned, they were with him, through thickest of his afflictions to the thinnest of their grievances (which were luckily very few). To their combined relief, his pain soon wearied and his mighty infection faded. It wasn’t long before he couldn’t bear the restlessness in typical marine fashion, and the only one who could coax him back into bed was herself. With Ripley’s aid, trembling, slow, he soon got to his feet, and the rest followed on a healthy incline.

On quiet evenings after Newt drifted to quiet sleep, they strolled the empty halls and winding passageways together, mostly to get his blood flowing, but mostly because she hated the thought of him alone, bound motionless with the few good things that melded in his mind. Nights where he succumbed to sick exhaustion and her eyes refused to close felt empty. It was a strange feeling, missing someone again. Someone who was alive.

Mostly, they talked.It was damn easy to talk to him. He listened.

Tonight, Hicks led her to a cozy place in the lounge room. where the viewport stretched the widest, revealing the expansive skeleton of the Station and the turquoise orb of their home planet. Fine light from the filtered constellations dotted a shimmering sea of reflections across the dark floor, like a disco ball frozen in time. They sat on cushions, Ripley tracing the shimmering squares with her fingers, watching the light pass through, unmoving, unchanging.

“You gonna go back?” He asked her as he poured her wine, his hand steadier, his head turned back slightly so his able eye could meet hers. In the opaque shine, it glinted a deep hazel color. The color of summer mountains. The color softened her insides. Will the other, now partially formed from thin glass, carry the same light? It wouldn’t matter. Hicks was more human than bandages now, carrying his loose, soft-spoken grin. A dark eyepatch stretched over the paddings of gauze shielding the healing wounds.

 _Argh, Pirate Hicks!_ The corneal surgery put no damper on his spirit. He committed to making dull days a luxury, molding a hook out of his sling and faking a rather convincing piracy accent that never failed to make Newt giggle. He even created swords out of extra foam for the ultimate sparring tournament, always letting the little one triumph victoriously. It made her inwardly melt to see them together. He was great with her, great with children despite having none of his own.

“That’s the plan. Newt wants to see everything.” 

“Everything, but not the bad parts.” Hicks played with the viewpoint’s filter, sending meadows of light skittering across the room.

“Everything but the bad parts.” She agreed.

The corner of the Marine’s mouth perked into a smile. “Good. Y'all seen enough bad." He took a sip of his wine and grimaced. "Damn, now _that's_ bad. Sorry. They didn't have much of a selection, believe it or not."

Ripley shook her head. "It does the trick. Thank you."

Hicks sat back down next to her. After a deep moment of quiet, he motioned to the expansive galaxies.

“The uh, view’s certainly a killer.” 

“Nothing else like it.” Ripley smiled, hoping to ease his newfound nervousness. But there was another silent, aching moment. Ripley frowned as Hicks inhaled slowly, crossing his hands together.

“Anyone waiting for you out there?” He didn’t look at her, but he didn’t shy away, either.

Ripley had little luck in the department of _Successful Relationships_. But she was happily single, happy to be alone and trust for "The One" to finally appear. She never expected nor sought after a six-figure, six-pack life, either. It was that she didn't want to--no--she couldn't wait any longer to be a mother. Thank God for sperm donors. There were more bad dates than good. 

“It’s just us.” Ripley said simply.

He stopped playing with the viewpoint. “You mean you don’t got any place to go?” He doesn’t sound pitying, or worried for the sake of courtesy—but authentically concerned, like a family member, or an old friend. Or someone she had known all her life. At least, that's what it felt like to be around him, with his organic warmth and open arms. 

“Not yet," Ripley said. "But there’s something freeing about it, isn’t there? No one to answer to. Having a clean slate. _”_ It was more than a good feeling. _“_ What about you?” 

Hicks seated himself next to her slowly, minding his arm. “My little brother Pete and I room together. He’s a real smartass. You’d like him. " He grinned. "He's just about finished his medical residency, but he's going into environmental research. He creates all sorts of inventions for the Company.Hates their guts, though. They steal all the credit for his work. Drives him nuts.”

“Sounds like a guy who knows what he's doing.” Ripley said, impressed. “Where do you live?”

“We've got some land on Thehila.”

“Thehila.” It rolled off the tongue uniquely. “Where is that?”

“Well,” he chuckled, gesturing towards a patch of pure oceanic blue among the faraway Earth. “Don’t know how great visibility is, but it’s right to the corner of the Pacific Ocean. It’s thatsmall pea-shaped drop that looks like an accident, like a piece of California broke off and floated away.”

Ripley laughed. There was that too. Among other brilliant things, he was definitely a jokester. They were close to home, but not _that_ close. She played along.

"Show me." She held out a hand.

He edged closer to her. She only realized that she was cold as his warmth enveloped her, his hand smooth against hers, calluses rippling through his fingers, their fingers. Gooseflesh broke all over, prickling as he guided her index finger.

“There.” His voice was barely above a whisper.

She imagined a solitary smudge in the vast blue world. Independent. Unbothered. Secret.

“What’s it like? Paint me a picture.”

Hicks smiled a little, his eye closing.

“It’s different, and nice. Peaceful. 'Yutani uses it as one of its main water shipment plants to fill up the ships before they take off to the colonies and all, but they don’t own it. Half of the land belongs to the Indigenous Peoples of the _Takota._ They’re the reason it’s one of the few places left that’s green. It’s also remote enough to be a base and a training camp for new recruits. Once the place was a tourist trap, but now it’s only open to residents. So," He opened his eye. "Picture a small town with lots of lonely people...country bumpkins and military families, but instead of driving in cars, they’re riding horses and power loaders to get around.” 

That image startled another laugh out of her plenty, a wonderful feeling that resonated from her belly. She couldn't remember the last time someone made her _really_ laugh. It felt good.

“I’m serious,” Hicks said through his own chuckles. “Naw, I’m not, but it’s got decent farmland. Horses are a common pet there. I’ve got one of my own.”

“You do?” Ripley’s eyebrows raised. “I’ve never ridden a horse.”

“They can be stinky bastards, but they’re wonderful, really wonderful.” Hicks swirled his wine. “I'll teach you. To ride, if you’d like. Someday.”

Ripley shook her head at the thought of her atop a voracious black stallion, riding full speed through a distant field, taking a sharp turn and falling straight on her ass.

“I don’t know how much of a good student I’ll be.”

Hicks snorted. “If you can singlehandedly blast a motherfucking mother _alien_ into space, you can handle a horse. You’re more than capable.” He blinked briefly-- _winked_ briefly.

“I’ll hold you to it, then.” The soft southern drawl. The love of horses. The affectionate way he muttered “country bumpkins”. It was all too obvious.

"Would I be wrong, Hicks, if I assumed you're a country boy?" 

Hicks grinned, looking more than pleasantly surprised. "Yes ma'am. Born outside of Macon, climbing oaks, causing trouble and taming wolves. The rent was cheap. I lived there until I was about ten."

"What happened? Fancied the city more?" 

He sobered for a minute--just a minute, though. 

"Well, I'd rather stayed, but after my folks passed away, Pete and I had to move in with our uncle on Luna colony. Not a lot of trees to climb up there, but at least we had someone."

Ripley lay a hand on his shoulder. "I'm sorry." Hicks eyed her hand and lay his on top of it.

"Don't be. I got nothing to complain about. He was a good man when he wasn't drunk as a skunk." He sighed. "Everything happens for a reason. Tell me your story."

"Which ones?" Most of them didn’t have happy endings, but she got the feeling he wouldn’t mind. 

"All of 'em." Hicks said without hesitation, then paused. "Any of 'em. Why’d you become a pilot?" 

Ripley settled onto the crook of her arm, lips pursed in thought.

“I guess it was in my blood. My father flew ships and worked his way up to Captain before he met my mother. But," she stared out, watching the infinite, still stars. "I don't really know, to tell you the truth. I like the quiet. Used to, at least. I think too much, and you can't think when you're on the clock, loading freighters at what feels like 4 A.M. It's all there in front of you: your only focus, your mission. Design. Decode. Load, and return to Station. In all its complexities, it was simple."

Ripley chuckled wanly. "Now, that doesn't make any damn sense, does it?"

Hicks shook his head. "No. I get it."

He always seemed to get it. She continued on, "and you see things you never knew existed. Moons and planets and worlds tucked away in galaxies never explored. There's too much of it _to_ explore. So you discover what you can." _And some things you_ _wish_ _you never found._

Ripley sat back up. "The only downside is once you see your world from a distance, the spaces in between existence, how vast the universe is, you can feel...insignificant. But the reality gets easier to handle with experience and time."

Hicks chuckled. "Impossible. You couldn't be insignificant even if you tried." 

Ripley smiled as she glanced down to her hands. "You're sweet. But I don't know about that. There's been plenty of times when I'm not needed."

"But you're there in case they do. That's what matters. Any crew should be thanking their lucky stars to have you on their team. Competent, brave and intelligent people ain't easy to find these days." 

"And the level-headed, kind and heroic aren't so common too." Ripley added genuinely.

Hicks grinned again, growing red around the ears. "Well I dunno about _that_."

A gray dropship passed by, as smooth and silent as a cat in the night. A nice hauler. Hicks spoke again after another pocket of silence, rubbing his good eye tiredly.

“The brass met with me today.”

Ripley straightened. “Really? What did they say?” What was the worst they could do, honorably discharge him? Maybe that would be the best.

Hicks sighed, sliding a hand across his mouth. “They’re giving me eight months to recover before returning to service, and…”

“And?”

“They’re promoting me to Staff Sergeant.”

“Dwayne, that’s fantastic! You deserve…” She trailed off as Hicks pinched the bridge of his nose, grimacing.

“What is it? Are you all right?”

His head hung low. “Who's to say I deserve anything. I know it's not the way things went. But I couldn't--they’re--" he hesitated, his jaw clenching. “They’re the ones who should be here getting those honor medals. Not…”

How could she have not seen it before? The pain that haunted him far more than any burn, any tangible ache. She knew it so well it felt like her own.

“Hey. Look at me.”

Ripley brought her palm to his warm cheek. It was shaven clean, no stubble. Smooth like velvet, despite its hard, scarred appearance. 

“Whatever voice that’s feeding you this bullshit, tell them to talk to me. We all did what we had to do. It is _not_ your fault. You know that." Her other hand held his shoulder. "It is _not_ your fault.”

Hicks said nothing. Her words spilled from her like water--easy as lying, though she told all truths. She fought the urge to shake him, shattering the Survivor's Guilt chain. Frustration tore inside her, roughening her voice. 

"What can I say to make you realize how brilliant you are?” 

She let it sink in for a moment. Hicks calmed, giving a single nod.

"Thank you, Ellen.” He said softly. She more than liked the sound of her name on his lips.

Ripley nodded back as she returned her buzzing hand to her lap. The night was warm next to him.

*~*~*~*

Though time ceased passing here, the hour was excessively late. Their debriefing scheduled early tomorrow, they both agreed they should at least try to get some shut-eye.

Ripley aided Hicks to his feet, he stronger and more stable, not needing much assistance anymore. Silently, they walked down the palely lit halls before they reached their rooms. The sturdier Sergeant rocked on his heels, thought for a moment, then took her hand.

“Listen. I’ve been meaning to ask you. If you don’t have any plans, you and Newt are more than welcome to come with me after we get out of here. It's not much, but at least we got some decent wine back home." He smiled softly. "You can stay for as long as you want.”

Ripley was somewhat speechless. When was the last time someone invited her with open arms without expecting anything in return?

“Consider it a way to thank you helping me through all this, _and_ for saving my life.” He added evenly, meeting her eyes. His full stare sent tingles down her entire being: breathy, electric shivers that made her heart shake like she’s eighteen again and sweaty smooching the boy who said he’d loved her and lied. Even now, hormones dimmed, she wondered: did this one truly like what he saw?

But Hicks was not "this one". Hicks was... _Dwayne_ was different. Different than any man she'd ever encountered. No longer did his gaze hold the twinges of nerves. He focused on her as if she were the only one left in the world. In his eyes he carried a deep thirst, a sweet craving. 

_How do you pick up the threads of an old life?_ Do you move on? Can you move on? The past felt like a distant ship on a thin sea, the taste of it faint, unrecognizable. What defined her life before the things that haunted her haggard dreams? Little Amy was her life, and life had stolen her away. Time was an unforgiving thief. One thing was certain: before the time of Acheron, of arrogant marines and soft-spoken ones, of death and monsters and orphaned little girls and the grace given by God, she’d lost all sense of hope. Love. Motherhood.

Life.

The tears rose, and she let them.

“Damnit, Marine. You saved mine.” 

So what, the world was too large and the future was unknown but his closeness was the only thing that mattered, mattered forever. She held her breath, her heart pounding so deeply some distant part of her worried she'd faint, his hands cupped her face, calloused and worked yet gentle and fine, her hands brushed through his combed hair, she gave into his scent that made her weak in the knees, he pressed against her and she leaned against the door, her lips parting and his mouth meeting hers.

He was the taste of falling rain. The gasping breath as you come up for air. The first sip of steaming coffee after a sleepless night. Water when you are dying of thirst. The sweet tang of freedom.

"Ellen." He breathed her name as if it were an ode to life. 

"Dwayne." She whispered as their lips again became one.


	4. Grounded

The Nostromo inquests had been agonizing, but this meeting made them look like a walk in a rose park.

It had been more than three hours this time around. Three hours spewing more this mindless-

“Bullshit!” Hicks interrupted through the mass of corporate voices, wiping them silent like water to a flame. 

“Don’t play those cards with us. Those _things_ obliterated our squad and infested Hadley’s Hope to the point of no return. We had no other choice but to blast that hole. If Lieutenant Ripley hadn’t taken “ _abrasive actions”_ , I can guarantee we’d be like all the others: dust in the piss wind.” He was levelheaded, yet hard as a smooth stone. Ripley stopped massaging her temples and stared up at him in admiring shock. Even with half his fierce features shielded by bandages that stretched down his neck and shoulders, he radiated heat and control.

“She’s the only goddamn reason you have someone left to debrief. She’s the only goddamn reason Newt--Rebecca Jorden, I mean--is alive. She saved us. She might as well have saved the entire universe from potential disaster. She’s a hero.”

And Ripley thought he would have to hold _her_ back. Hicks’s eye flickered to her, the corner of his mouth perking up in a short-lived smile.

“She’s a hero. Not a goddamn criminal,” he returned to the crowd of seated morons. “You better start treating her like one.” 

A gray colonial representative raised his hand in fake submission. “At ease, Sergeant.” He said wearily. “As much as I’d like to ruin everyone’s day, we technically can’t press charges without the approval of our superiors. Much to Mr. Georgmann’s dismay.” 

Georgmann, a rodent-like man, gave a snotty snicker as he stacked together files. Hicks slumped back in his seat. 

“And where the hell are they?” Ripley demanded. “Why aren’t your superiors here?”

Another yawning representative glanced at her watch. “I’m afraid they’re in a meeting more pressing than this one. They’ll arrive shortly. Perhaps while we wait, we can discuss severance packages. You’re both issued your doubled salary provided neither of you publicly disclaim mission specifics, and as promised, Lieutenant, a reinstatement of your flight license. On behalf of the Weyland Yutani Corporation, we’d like to give our sincere thanks for your…“

The rest of the monotone drawl dulled out of Ripley’s mind. The gist of it? Apparently, nuking a multi-million dollar colony did have its repercussions, even if you destroyed a lethal species in the mix. They _recommended_ her resignation for the sake of reputation and what they had put as “dignity”. Strongly _recommended_. 

Ripley wasn’t against it. Whatever remotely compliant feelings she once had about this place were dead inside her. Once you see how the sausage gets made, suddenly you lose your appetite. With her flight license and a lengthy severance, she could find work elsewhere, if she wanted it. 

Now what the hell did she want? 

She wanted a goddamn vacation. The eight month leave with Amanda she requested before she signed her contract with the _Nostromo_ and the greatest shit of her life hit the fan. 

She wanted a lot of impossible things.

“...I will relay to our childcare representative on the condition of Rebecca Jorden. Martha, what is your status?”

A tightly wound woman flipped through pages with gray painted fingernails. “No living relations,” she looked up to Ripley and flashed a patronizing smile. 

“No need to worry, we’ll transfer the child to foster care.”

Ripley clenched the chair handles until her knuckles paled. They could take her career, fine, but intentionally or not, they weren’t taking this daughter away. Not this time. Yet she had to stay in character—calm, cool, and reasonable, if they were to truly oblige.

Ripley loosened her grip. “No. No foster care. She’s coming with me. I plan to adopt her.” 

The woman frowned. 

_Don’t break character. Don’t-_

“Hm. That won’t be necessary, Miss Ripley. You’ve done quite enough already. The girl will be better handled with a more…” she picked at her cuticle. “Stable individual.”

 _FUCK character._ Hicks would _definitely_ have to hold her back.

“Ah! Charon!” Georgemann announced delightedly, and as if on cue, the entire group of suit and ties stood, stiff as boards. Ripley whipped around.

The room buzzed with nervous, sweaty anticipation, but the towering man paid no attention to his grovelling associates, occupied on his portable phone. Ripley recognized his type with ease: sleek, brushed back hair. Sturdy suit and tie. Confident and authoritative, with glaringly white teeth, stinking up the room with their thousand-dollar cologne. Gold-diggers wooed over them and insecure men secretly envied them. _Bossman._ He had them all in the palm of their hands, ready at any angry moment to crush them with a hardened fist. More than his pungent cologne, he reeked of power. Too much of it.

Following behind him was an equally condescending woman, straight blonde hair tied away from her sharpened, ice blue eyes. The Controller’s Side Kick. The leader’s afterthought.

“Excellent, excellent, yes, send them right away. No, not thirteen, I want fifteen of them, understood? Grand.” The man carried a faint British accent, so light, it appeared he aimed to mask it. He snapped his device closed and heaved a controlled sigh.

“Forgive me for my tardiness, everyone. I’ve been on the call with the damn insurance leagues for lord knows how long.”

“They’re not the sort of type to heed social cues, are they, sir?” The only insurance representative piped up nervously, sending the group into agreeing chuckles and praises. 

The man nodded graciously. He leaned over to whisper something unintelligible to the blonde woman beside him, but paused as he spotted Ripley. A thin eyebrow cocked upwards, and his eyes--a fierce, fiery amber--raked her head to toe. A smirk, like a rat’s tail, curled along his lips. Ripley folded her arms. 

“Now, now, where are my manners?” he approached them with an outstretched hand. “Lieutenant Ripley. Sergeant. Happy to see you’ve recovered. it’s a pleasure to finally meet you both. My name is Robert Charon, active CEO, and this is Georgia Welles, our leading representative of the Bio-Weapons division.” His handshake tried to be firm, but it lacked...something. 

As he pulled away, Ripley saw a clean stub in the place of his left thumb. The missing dragon's scale.

“We'd like to congratulate you on a successful mission.” He added, following her close eye. The devilish smirk widened into a sleek, coverup smile as he neatly folded his hands together.

“I don’t know if ‘successful’ is the right word for it.” Hicks said grimly, suspicion lining his brow. He took a step forward closer to the suited man. “One hundred and fifty-eight colonists are dead, save for one. My squad too.”

“My deepest condolences, Sargeant, truly.” Charon sighed as he examined a sheaf of a printout. “Yet perhaps you are being rather cynical about this ordeal.”

Ripley scoffed in disbelief. “Cynical?” She was this close to slapping the paperwork right out of his hands. “Sir, I don’t know where you’ve been for the past four hours, but I can assure you, there’s nothing cynical about a colonist graveyard. You of all people should know.”

Charon peered up from his sheet. “You’re quite right on the matter, Lieutenant. I was merely referring to the Sargeant’s cynical _attitude_.” 

Hicks remained unbruised by the comment, single eye squinted in great effort as if he were searching for something miniscule. 

“I know you from somewhere.” He said concretely.

Charon raised his dark eyebrows. “I’m certain I’ve never seen _your_ face before. Not that I could tell at the moment.” His lips twitched into another impish smirk. “My face has become commonly known here, perhaps you’ve seen it around?” He turned his head back to Ripley. “Moving on, we’ve found some rather intriguing information that I say is _monumental_. Welles?”

Welles gestured to another printout. _So many goddamn printouts_. 

“We’ve all read the transcript of your debriefing. We’d like to discuss more with you on the specimens you encountered. In private.” 

Of course that was all they cared about. They sent that sonofabitch Burke to accompany them, after all. There was no hope left here. It was clear in the fearful, stricken ways of the Company reps: this place had gone bad to the bone, rotten at the roots. 

Welles’s arctic eyes glared so cold, one had the chance of freezing to death if they stared too long into them. As Ripley stared straight on into the rigid woman’s gaze, she didn’t feel the slightest chill.

“Look,” Ripley said. “We already told you everything we know. As much you’re dying to, you won’t be getting your hands on your little millionaire prizes anytime soon.” 

“We made sure to send them back to the hell where they belonged.” Hicks growled beside her. Ripley glanced appreciatively at him. 

“We know about your little plan. Your senior representative Carter Burke kindly filled us in, and he almost got away with it too.” The fury pulsing through her almost caused her to shake. “But you would’ve gotten just what you wanted, isn’t that right?”

Charon’s carefree expression darkened. “Let me reassure you Lieutenant, that the Company had no part of Carter Burke’s devious attempts at murder. He was a sniveling weasel of a man. Had I been hired sooner, we would have no such people under my employment.”

Ripley shook her head. “Don’t worry. You won’t have to deal with me anymore following my _recommended_ resignation.” She locked eyes with the child services woman. “I’ll keep quiet. So long as you stay out of my way.”

“Resignation?” Charon’s distinctive amber eyes flashed furiously. He turned to his paled corporates. “Who proposed this illegal, preposterous idea?!” A few cleared their throats, but none answered. The silence was as heavy as darkness.

Charon’s thin lips pursed a tight line across his face as if to keep lethal words within. He inhaled deeply before speaking.

“This meeting’s been adjourned. Lieutenant First Class Ripley, NOC-14672, shall do as she pleases with her flight license, but there will be no recommendations of resignation in my Station! All reps will meet in my office after the recess." The cold-stoned faces filed out one by one. 

"Missus, wait a moment.” Charon motioned to the childcare services woman. “May I speak with you on the behalf of the child? I hear she’s doing well in Lieutenant Ripley’s custody.”

The bland woman smiled apathetically. “That very well may be, but I have informed Lieutenant Ripley that services will be locating Rebecca Jorden to the foster facility.” 

“I can’t believe you people!”’ Hicks said, nearly exasperated. “The girl’s been through enough hell already, and now you want to stick her in a facility? Isn’t there any exception to children who survive a massacre?”

Indeed: I.Q.’s, bullshit that they were, definitely had dropped down to the point of no return.

Ripley faced the woman. “I’ll sign whatever you want me to, go to your meetings, inquiries, but I’m not leaving without her. It’s not an option. You can’t stop me.” 

The woman sighed. She spoke slow as if she were trying to reason with a tantruming child, which only made Ripley’s blood boil wilder. 

“I am afraid it is not as simple as it seems. Even with the current situation, there must be hearings, approval of the board, extensive background checks...the process can take up to several years, which, if I daresay, may soften what we call the “ _traumatic bond_ ” between you and the child.” She nodded to the exit hurriedly. “You may take your query to my supervisor. Do try to understand.”

“Dearest Martha,” Charon directly butted-in. His smile put the Cheshire Cat to shame as he loomed over the tight woman. “Do you not agree that Lieutenant Ripley, a competent and loyal server of the company, would make for an excellent candidate?”

Martha fidgeted with her clipboard, but stood her ground. “Sir, I have few doubts she would fail to care for the child ethically, however the system--”

“And do you not agree,” Charon toyed with a pen, clicking it in and out. “That this is a rather complicated and ardent situation?” _Tick_. “I believe the girl’s needs would be more than met. It’ll save us time. Expenses, too.” _Tick._ “It is the least we can do to compensate our most valued workers.” _Tick_. 

The woman’s head bobbed in several, even nods. She watched the pen with deadly stillness. “Well. Well, of course, sir. Certainly. But the system—my supervisor…” 

Charon lay a fully fingered hand on her shoulder, small in the palm of his hand. The woman visibly stiffened, and his tiger eyes glimmered with laughter.

“Oh Martha, poor thing. Your memory must be going. We’ve talked about this. The only supervisor you have to worry about is _me_.” 

The bitch fought not to stutter, and fell silent. 

Charon clapped his hands together. “Ta. Welles, will you be so kind as to see her out?” Welles shot Ripley one last haughty glare before leading the shaken woman away. 

Charon adjusted his tie. “Forgive them. I must say before I was instituted as chairman of the Company, there was a detrimental lack of leadership. I am on the path of repairing this gap.” He smoothed back his greased black hair. “No need to worry about the girl, I am good partners with the fostercare’s chairman. He’s a wonderful chap. You are free to finalize the adoption process, and she’s as good as yours.” He forced a diminished smile to Hicks. “May I speak to Lieutenant Ripley alone for a moment? I promise I needn’t take much of your time, Lieutenant.” 

Ripley exchanged hasty, wary glances with Hicks. Hicks studied the man for a long moment, hesitant. Then he nodded.

“I’ll wait for you outside, Ellen.” 

As Hicks left, Charon’s too easy smirk creeped back. He gestured to one of the empty seats. 

“Please, sit!”

Ripley did so. Even the chairs felt more high-end than before, smelling of real leather, soft and cool against her skin.

“Ellen...” Charon mused to himself, pacing throughout the room. On Hicks’s lips, her name resounded like a new breath of the freshest air. On the arrogant chairman’s, it tolled like a warning bell.

“What a pretty name. Your mother’s?” 

“Grandmother’s.” Ripley replied slowly. Now the small talk was growing too large for her liking. “Look, Charon, if this--”

“Oh please, call me Robert.” 

“Okay. Robert. if this is about any secret mission you have or whatever, I—“ 

“Come now, let us not be too hasty!” The taller man laughed. “I value all of my employer's personal needs. Are you in need of a place to stay? With the child, I’m positive your one-bedroom apartment simply won’t do.”

Ripley felt her entire body stiffen. “How do you know I live alone?”

Charon paused his rhythmic pacing. “Company policy alerts me to have addresses on file. Case files are of course, classified, yet as I’m newly established, I did take a wee peek at yours. I hope you don’t mind.”

 _I can see company policy is no less invasive._ But Ripley shrugged. “What’s done is done.” 

“You and I think alike.” Charon took a seat across from her. He lay his palms on the table, missing thumb in plain sight.

“Now, considering all your sacrifices to the Company, I’d like to personally offer you your tripled salary, as well as an additional package. It would also bring me great pleasure to provide housing for you and the child on my private colony, _Father Texiquant._ You will be quite comfortable there with the plentiful amenities. It makes _Walt Disney’s World_ look like child’s play. Which it is, isn’t it?” He chuckled a shallow chuckle. “Consider it a gift. Any want and need shall be satisfied under my care.”

It was almost too fucked up to be reality. But then again, reality was full of fucked up things. First, the Company laid her out to dry like roadkill, now the newly appointed boss with an ego the size of Antarctica was hitting on her? She wanted to laugh in his manicured, greasy face.

“I…” Ripley stopped, scoffing to herself. “I’m flattered by the offer.” 

“What do you say?” Charon asked slyly.

Her mind flashed to Hicks waiting for her, maybe pacing around, humming quietly to himself. He did that occasionally, when he was nervous--when he allowed himself to be nervous. She thought of his tender whisper “ _come with me_ ” the night he had held her in the dark.

She knew damn well what she wanted.

Ripley stood from her chair. “Thank you, but I plan to stay grounded for the foreseeable future. I’ll accept the severance and compensation package without any restrictions.” 

Charon’s smug smile faltered into a scowl, a hint of dulled surprise coming across his face. He again adjusted his blood-red color tie as he spoke.  
“Very well then. Thank you for your time. The company will feel your loss. Take my card in case you reconsider.” 

ROBERT E. CHARON

Active CEO of Weyland Yutani Corp.

803-666-6666

_Building Better Worlds Starts With You._

They shook hands. He gripped onto hers longer than she liked. 

“Oh, and Lieutenant?” 

Ripley turned from the door. Nothing too particular struck her about the man’s manicured features other than he appeared too flawless to be real. It was his corporate eyes that made her unsettled. He gave off a penetrating look that made one feel naked, stripped of all strength, bare against the vulgar elements. She had never seen human eyes more fiery than his. Wicked eyes that held not a drop of regret, feeling, or care. Eyes that glowed hungrily like a predator that caught sight of his prey. He stared at her. Searching his cavern gaze, it was like looking down the jaws of a beast.

Charon simply contemplated his pen. “I pray you understand the reason _why_ we’re building better worlds.” 

Ripley’s chin rose. “I’ll keep that in mind.” 

*~*~*~*

Hicks sat on a bench, drooped over something small, hand curled around his forehead. As Ripley approached him, he immediately looked up. His one eye was bloodshot and damp. Quickly he stood to meet her but stumbled, wavering, hand clutching his brow. 

“Hey, you alright?” She grabbed his arm. Hicks steadied with her support, shaking his head.

“Yeah. Stood up too fast. Damn pain meds make the world turn.” He shuffled a few red pills into his palm and tossed them into his mouth, swallowing hard. “What was that about?” He gestured to the closed meeting door a few ways behind them. 

Ripley sat down and sighed heavily. “Bribery to keep me from quitting.” 

The photo that Hicks held was now in clear view: a black and white of the First Battalion Squad team, revealing shining, stoic faces and goofy grins. Hudson’s giving Drake a noogie while Vasquez, toned arms crossed across her chest, is captured mid-kicking Hudson in the place where the sun doesn't shine. All unknowing. Oblivious. Fatally proud. It was like looking Ripley shut her eyes for a brief moment in remembrance as the grief washed over her. Poor bastards. 

“You’re resigning?” Hicks said, not sounding too surprised. “Well good. Damn right. They don’t deserve you.”

He eyed her looking to the photo, his smile drifting away like dead leaves in the cold wind. “It was taken a few months before we left.” He rubbed a sleeve over his face and cleared his throat. “It was in my jacket pocket this whole time. I forgot I even had it."

Ripley intertwined her fingers with his, laying her head down onto his shoulder. Sometimes words weren't enough. So she spoke the only words that left her lips with ease.

“Let’s get the hell out of here.” 

Hicks almost chuckled. “You read my mind, babe.”


	5. A Dark Discovery

**Computer System Review:**

H.H. SHUTTLE #532 ARRIVED at EARTH ORBIT CENTER at

 _0700 HOURS, SEPTEMBER 31st, 2179_.

LAST DOCKING: _Hadley’s Hope Complex_ ( **ACHERON** ).

NEXT DOCKING: _Gateway Station._

 **ALERT** : MAJOR DAMAGE TO ALL MAJOR SYSTEMS.

FURTHER INVESTIGATION REQUIRED IN EVAC. CENTER 1.

**-Maintenance and Analysis Team-**

  1. **NANCASTER #888300**



**OVERRIDE successful.**

**Shutting down...**

Out of the depths of a shitty shuttle, Nico Yazzie Johnson’s scream of terror echoed louder than a rocket launcher to hell.

“OH GOD OH GOD CHRIST, WHAT IS THAT _THING_?” He leaped like a spooked cat then fell straight onto his ass. “HELP! SOMEBODY! MEDICCCCC!” 

Meanwhile, Nancaster laughed until tears streamed down his fat face and he had to hurl over clutching his even fatter belly. What a show this new guy was! And that scream? _A killer!_ Oldest trick in the book, attaching a silicone bug model to the transit pod. The blood? Cornstarch, red food dye, and water, all perfectly harmless for hazmat suits which Nancaster had splattered himself with when his victimized teammate wasn’t looking. No matter how many times the old geezer played the prank on the newbies, it never got old.

“You should’ve seen…” Nancaster wheezed. “You should’ ve _seen…_ ” He fell into another fit of voracious howls.

Upon realizing he was full-on fooled, the boy’s face melted from shades of ghost white to deep red, flushed between embarrassment and fury. He clambered to his feet.

“You--you--asshat!” 

Nancaster was just about recovered from his laugh-induced exertion before howling into another fit of laughter at Nico’s squeak of an insult.

 _"Asshat_?” He choked out, picking up his own decontamination hose. Still sniggering, Nancaster slathered on more vibrant, orange cleanser on the row of cyropods.

“Let me tell you something brother, you got one hell of a scream! Ever been mistaken for a chick?”

The kid stood there mouth agape as if he was never pranked or frightened before in his entire life. Nancaster snickered, rolling his eyes far back into their sockets. Jesus, you gotta find some way to entertain yourself when you’re stuck doing all the dirty work. Disinfecting company ships ain’t nearly as fun as it sounds.

“Oh, c’mon, don’t be a pussy!” Nancaster shouted over the bulky droning of the cleaning machine. “We play it on all the newbies! You were by far in my top ten piss-myself reactions! You should be proud.”

Nico chucked his hose to the floor. 

“It’s not _funny_ , man! Don’t you know? Didn’t you read the report?” The kid’s voice lowered to a frantic whisper and he glanced around wildly as if a real monster could pop out from any dark corner at any second. “This ship is haunted!”

Nancaster bit his tongue to stop himself from bursting into comedic cardiac arrest. _Priceless!_ Just out of gratitude for making his day, he was about to rinse Nico’s unfinished pod when the kid violently ripped the plug out of its power socket. Nancaster stared at him for a few moments, half bewildered and half surprised at the boy’s non-obvious strength. Then he reared on him.  
  
“Hey, what the hell?!”

But the expression on Nico’s pale face made the usually stagnant wheels in Nancaster’s mind turn. The boy’s eyes were shadows: dark pits of fear.

_What the hell is this kid on?_

“I’m not kidding, man.” Nico said. “If you read the history on this thing, you would be scared shitless too.”

“Oh god, the _history_?” Nancaster raised his trembling, gloved hands in front of him and feigned fainting. “Whatever shall we do?”

He lost it again, but the kid gave off a glare that would cut through steel--only if that steel was more of a wimp than he was. Nancaster sighed. If his top notch humor wasn’t breaking the ice, what would?

“Listen to me,” Nico continued, his fists clenched. “This shuttle came from that terraformer planet. No records on how or why it mysteriously returned before the colony complex was fucking obliterated to pieces. _Pieces_ ! And the colonists? All dead, save for one kid, and nobody knows what they died _from_. At least it doesn’t say in the classified pages.” Nico’s shoulders gave a shake as he shivered. “Doesn’t that...bug you?”

How did this guy get into the classified pages? Who was he kidding, he didn’t give a rat’s ass. But something didn’t add up to this little dick’s story.

“Wait just a hot minute-if this so-called terraformer planet was nuked, how did this ship get here in one shitty piece?”

“If you wanna know what I think, I think that something--I don’t know what--but something inside this ship reacted to the surge of power. It’s happened before. Some shuttles' systems can automatically react to a high level of energy, such as a nuclear bomb. It can set it off into overdrive to preserve itself. But that’s not the point. The point is it’s not supposed to be here. It was supposed to die with that colony. But by some chance...” Nico trailed off, swallowed hard. “I don’t like it.” 

“Yeah well, you don’t seem to like a lot of things.” The older man said, then sighed as Nico shrugged.

“Listen, kid. Take it from a guy who’s worked here for over twenty years. I don’t waste my time listening to company crooks and battered marines with piss for brains, and you shouldn’t either. Now, this job don’t pay much dough, but it’s enough so that I can buy a six-pack and forget about all the shit. Try it sometime, because you,” Nancaster gave his pitiful partner a shallowly pitiful glance, “need to relax.”

Nico kept on. “But you see, it’s not just-” 

Now Nancaster’s patience met its mark. “For Christ’s sake, can you _please_ shut up so we can get this section done so we can get the hell out of here?” He wasn’t going to lie to himself--this place did give him the creeps--an off feeling in his gut, and that was never good. The gut never lies. “I want to break for lunch preferably before three today. That sound good to you, weirdo?”

The weirdo mumbled something defeatedly, plugged in the power cleanser, and said no more.

Nancaster nodded. _Good. I like quiet._

He himself took a look around.

_But not here._

It was simply too damn big and too damn dark and too damn quiet. Sure, occasionally there’d be a hiss of the cleanser, or the breaking drum of their meaty footsteps clad with their protective gear, but if he’d let his mind wander, he’d thought he’d heard...voices. But no one had died here, right? The crew--(or what was left of it, according to Nico) all got jacked up on some crazy colonist moon--somethin’ about a power failure, sent off a nuke...that’s what _Nancaster_ heard, anyway.

To make things even more unsettling, it was more filthy than a baboon’s ass. He’d never seen such a rundown piece of garbage. The ship looked like it’d been through a war. There was not a clean or untattered inch. Most of the ship’s automatic doors looked as if a dozen wild, stray cats had tried to claw their way in: ragged, disturbing claw marks etched into the metal barriers. Worst of all, there was this mysterious, secreted shit that was smeared over everything. No one knew what the goopy slime was, except it was a sonofabitch to clean. 

_ALERT. ALERT._ Nico flinched as a harsh robotic noise cut through the silence.

_POWER ENGINE LOW. REPLACE NOW._

The disinfectant machine. Nancaster’s racing heart slowed, and he gave the device a gnarly kick for good measure.

“Goddamn it. Can’t this company give out machines that don’t lose their juice in three fuckin seconds?” 

Nico’s thin, gloved hands fumbled as he quickly changed the battery. His lips made a singular, flat line across his face. His shaky breath fogged up his protective helmet. He looked bad. He looked weak. Nancaster wasn’t weak. 

_Don’t be an idiot. Aliens. Ghosts. All a bunch of storytime shit._

“Hurry up.” Nancaster grumbled, glancing behind him. 

***

The two, however incompatible, finished the safety chute, main corridors, and air ducts in great time. Nancaster was in a far greater mood.

“Wadya look at that?” He piped up gleefully. “One-thirty and time to spare! All that’s left is Evac and then we clock out.”

The kid mumbled something that wasn’t English and rather unkind in response. Nancaster waved it off as he emptied out the contents of his cleaning machine into the biohazardous chute. He watched the dark sludge pour out in satisfaction.

“Oh, and you should know it's tradition that the newbies take Evac.” He directed his head in the right direction. “For good luck and experience.” He hoped the bullshit was thick enough.

Nico stiffened. After a moment, he straightened himself and avoided Nancaster’s gaze. “Alone?” 

“Well I ain’t gonna wait around for you and wipe your ass! My lunch is calling me, and no offense, I’d choose the company of any good meatball parm over yours.” Nancaster smirked and lay a gloved hand on Nico’s shoulder. “I got an idea--why don’t you use some of that voo-doo crap your people came up with? Oregano, or some shit to eh, cast out bad spirits.”

“ _Sage_.” Nico nudged the hand off his shoulder with a hard jerk. “It’s sage. And it’s not voodoo.” 

“Whatever.” Nancaster heaved up his machine onto the wheeled hauler. “The rest of the guys are on deck until 5:00 doing routine. Then you can kiss this piece of shit goodbye. It goes back to Gateway in less than three hours. And incase you run into annnyyyyy big bad bugs,” He gestured to his hose. “Use your cleanser. That shit’s liable to kill _anything_.” He waved the thick hose around his groin, giving a crude, laughing dance. Then finally, he disappeared off into the staccato blackness. 

His back turned, Nico wasn’t afraid to flip him off, which looked awfully comical with his oversized gloved fingers. It almost made a feeble laugh form in Nico’s throat. It almost made him forget about unsolved mysteries and what the foulest formation death exists in. It almost silenced that creeping, unnerving feeling that we’re all on this planet just long enough to get eaten by something bigger than us. 

***

“Okay, okay. Just, for God sakes, calm the fuck down.”

The kid inhaled a not large enough gulp of air. He tried again and again until his helmet fogged up, then cursed and gave deep breathing up altogether. Wet sweat trickled down his face as he stared down the well-like passage into the Emergency Subdivision Corridor. To get into said Subdivision Corridor usually required a damage-resistant elevator (which was, of course, inoperative due to damage). In its place, the only safety route left was a set of long, parallel twin ladders in the vent system. He leaned his head light down to view the bottom. It was at least fifteen feet, with a flimsy safety net to catch you if you missed a step--that is, if you managed to direct yourself to fall onto the net without hitting your head onto one of the metal barriers.

Nico secured his footing onto the first step, shutting his eyes briefly. He heard the echoes of the analysis teams' voices far behind him. His cleaning machine was already waiting for him, blinking its steady, green power light. He started to count as he descended into the quiet darkness. Isn’t counting what one does when one is in a state of anxiety? 

_Count back from a hundred_ the masked surgeons say as your body deflates with anesthesia and the world becomes numb. 

Count sheep when you are trying to chase the sandman. Count when you’re climbing down to your doom. 

“Eight--”

Nico slipped, spluttered and cursed colorfully. His gloves suctioned to the handrails and he gripped them tightly, tighter. Damn this shit job which pays shit and doesn’t mean shit. Why couldn’t he have worked at some fast food joint like all the rest of the college dropouts and been poor and wastefully, blissfully high and at least not going to die at nineteen years old? Why couldn’t he have listened to all of his teachers and tutors and mentors and friends?

_Because you never had any of those. You only had me._

_Mom?_

Finally his feet met solid ground and he gave a sigh of relief. Burning red lights of the evacuation center grew brighter as he made his way in through the claustrophobic corridor and the gullwing doors. It was a fairly large room for the size of the ship, set with about twenty cryopods, emergency kits, medical station, an airlock chute, and a large control monitor stationed in the middle of the area. Along the walls were red abort panels that blinked feebly. It looked prepared for any theoretical disaster--expect the one that had actually happened. 

“God...” 

Everything appeared as if the Hulk himself had brought his great fist down and _Hulk Smashed_ everything in sight. It also appeared that Hulk was in need of a gigantic shower beforehand, thick layers of dust, dirt, and dark red sludge which Nico hoped to God wasn’t dried blood covered everything. And the slimy shit--this place had the motherlode of it. Every cyropod’s apparent industrial glass was cracked inward, shards of glass scattered across the metal floor. Walls were caved in and scratched. The ventilation system above had a gaping hole. The air tasted stale, even though his suit’s filtration system.

Nico crept closer to the center of the room. The control panel was now a gaping hole of wires and glass, dripping with goopy secretion, but there was something bulging out of the crater. 

Glancing around his destroyed surroundings, Nico pressed the small intercom button on his wrist, and a static buzzing filled his helmet’s speakers. A few seconds later, one of the analysis guys picked up--Brown. His voice was faint. 

“Hang on a second, James, the new kid’s calling me--again.” Nico heard Brown adjust something and his nasally voice evened. 

“Brown here. Oh hiya Nicky, what’s up?” 

_Don’t call me that._ Nico gritted his teeth.

“Nancaster sent me to the evac wing to disinfect, but there’s nothing to disinfect here. Everything’s shot.”

Laughter rang from the other side. 

“No shit Nicky, everything in this dump is shot.”

Nico hoped his scowl was present in his voice. What was he supposed to do here anyway? Clean up garbage?

“Well, what am I supposed to do here anyway? Clean up garbage?”

More condescending laughter resounded from the other line. 

“Exactly! I knew you had somethin’ in you! Now, listen kid, as much as I love our little chats, please don’t call us again unless it’s an emergency, we’ve got a lot of work to do over here.”

Nico imagined them sitting on their asses, laughing and tossing cards, drinking hot coffee and pretending to take important measurements. 

“And do us a favor,” Brown said. “Don’t f-- _SHIT_!”

There was a breaking of the line as Brown’s voice dissolved into a wail of high pitched static. Cringing, Nico slapped the switch off, waited, then spoke again.

“Hello? Brown?”

Nothing but the eerie, disconnected interference. The same cold dread formed a lump in Nico’s throat, and he swallowed hard. The lying part of his mind told him _relax, they’re probably just fucking with you like the rest of the guy,_ and he listened, just to calm his rapid heartbeat, to ease the hairs that stood on the back of his neck. He’d be out of here soon. 

But first--what was in that pit? 

Nico leaned closer, directing his headlight, and nested inside the cavity he saw that looked too strange and grotesque to be real. There was some sort of sac--a gigantic, round thing that had four openings, like how a flower’s petals would bloom open when catching sight of the sun. Revolting veins stretched through the petal like openings and across the interior of the sac. The inside was barren. If this was a flower or a plant even, this had to be the ugliest one in the entire universe. It almost looked like...a giant egg, he thought, but not from any discovered, ordinary mammal. Its outer layer skin oozed a green slime and had a scaly appearance. It was so revolting, you couldn’t look away, you had to keep staring at it--no matter how much you wanted to puke.

Nico fought the urge to touch it--then he lay one finger on the outlying skin. That’s when the realization dawned on him.

“Hah! Real funny, Nancaster! What a killer!” Maybe the bastard was watching him from some secret video camera. Maybe he was with all the others, sniggering at Nico’s massive gullibility at another one of his pranking props. That’s all this was. A big, fat joke on the kid loser. Nico should’ve known. 

“I’m almost impressed! It looks--”

The dying glow of the crimson lights flickered off. Nico’s headlight beamed into the darkness. He laughed. He chuckled hoarse, angry chuckles and his applause echoed in the hollow room. 

“Bravo, man! Good thing I ain’t scared of the dark!” He waved his headlight around the disturbed corners of the room. “You know, actually, I think I like this place better in the-”

Something slimy landed onto his helmet with a thick, revolting sludge. Nico recoiled. It slid and smeared down the glass, leaving the world hazy and snot-covered. He wiped at his helmet with his glove. As if this day couldn’t get any worse, the same snot shit was now raining from the sky, thicker and stickier than glue. More of it plopped down from above. 

There are three things you should know as Nico turned his head and glanced up at the ceiling: he didn’t scream, he didn’t cry out, and what he saw was not a hole in the vent. 

Definitely not a damn hole.

One thing is certain: Nico couldn’t breathe. 

What was hanging like a mutant bat from the vent system? A faceless, nameless, snarling creature? Is this what made you feel as small and as weak as a wounded, lost child? Its long, hideous oblong head inches away from Nico’s face, jaws of fangs grinning down at its next prey. No eyes. No sight. No soul. Its odor reeked of fire, piss, and pure, murderous hunger. And Nico was there again, at nine years old like no time had passed, frozen in fear, under his father’s belt, with no hands to cover his ears from drunken screams of rage. He could only stare as the monster in front of him breathed out a pleased hiss, its ragged and dagger-like tail whipping an angered serpent. It was larger than any human, any creature that existed in the good world. 

Some faraway part of it tells him _it’s a nightmare, it’s a silly, stupid dream, you’re dreaming._

The mind is a liar.

Pouncing, it launched itself out of the vent, the ground trembling as it landed. Nico fell onto his back, paralyzed. _It’s over. Shut your eyes and maybe you’ll wake..._

Thoughts dulled. His heart stopped. Senses, what were senses? Out of some distant, dumb, and sheer instinct, Nico barelled himself away, snatching his cleanser’s hose. _Please god oh god let this work._

He aimed--

and jammed the trigger, shooting a vicious spray of futile, concentrated, chemical cleanser straight into the impending jaws of the beast. Maybe then he would die a man who once in his life, _tried_. 

But the thing reared on its back legs, claws flailing, screeching a deafening sound of a thousand agonized screams! How it _screamed_. Nico's ears squealed against the monstrous sound. Sizzling, green substance exploded from industrial, dark flesh, like a popped pus-filled blister, splattering onto Nico’s chest and helmet. It consumed viciously through his suit, breaking his stupor. Noxious fumes made him cough and gasp as he dashed through the dark corridor and trampled up the ladder, trusty hose dragging behind in one hand. 

There was no time to count. Nico clambered up each step desperately, panting, his heart in his throat. He could see the surface. He could see the faint, red lights of the subdivision. He could see safety. 

Webbed claws sank and tore into his leg, heavier than an anchor. Impossible heat scorched up his leg, and Nico screamed, his singular hand, his only hope clinging to rung, hearing bones crack below but feeling nothing. _Let go,_ his body cried, but the kid grit his teeth and blindly sprayed all his strength, all his vigor into the trigger. The nozzle shot out the sizzling liquid at a rapid, straight, speed, and the sharpness on his leg released. He sprayed until the hose coughed and sputtered uselessly. The thing flailed and wailed and collapsed with a thunderous sound below. 

Nico hurled himself to the top, crawling on his hands and knees and taking in long, ragged breaths of unfiltered and parched air. He didn’t stop, he couldn’t stop moving. The door lock panel blinked a green light ahead of him like a promising star in the lightless sky. Nico whammed his palm into the crimson button, and watched as the two sides of metal doors clashed together with an settling thump. Wails of a dead siren mingled with monstrous shrieks, growing louder by the minute. He collapsed onto his back and almost began to cry.

A thick, resounding whirl shook the entire world. Then another. Then another. A rattled as the ground shook. His bones shook. His teeth shook. His fingertips shook. Nico’s eyes flew to the door. Nothing moved. _Earthquake._ Was there such a thing as a _space_ quake?

No. The ship was _moving_. More specifically, tolling safely, nonchalantly, peacefully away back to the safe and monster-free Gateway Station. With him and the thing--

“WAIT!” Nico screamed, out to anyone, out to no one as he staggered to the dimmed exit platform. “NO! STOP! STOP! CODE RED!”

The floor trembled and tilted. He dragged his dead foot along, but it was never fast enough.

“STOP! CODE RED! HELP!” 

Two feet from the exit doors, Nico tripped. And fell. And his head slammed onto something hard, too hard.

All that was left was the darkness. But the kid was no stranger to the dark.


	6. Lucky Man

Hitting Earth’s surface was like submerging into sub-zero degree water--not entirely unpleasant, but not entirely comfortable. Artificial gravity and actual gravity are no two similar things. 

But what Ripley feels is not the shift in atmospheric pressure or the hull of gravity--nothing outworldly. She feels her heart’s rhythm slow. Her jaw softening. The hairs on the back of her neck settle. The weight that was carried in weightlessness now flowing off her like ripples of water, a release, a catharsis. She holds onto Newt’s hand as the shuttle trembles briefly. They run into some turbulence. Newt doesn’t budge. Previously, without her new companions, Ripley might have flinched or winced like the other passengers around her, and most were clutching onto their seats, gasping, wide eyed. Her eyes are closed. In a world that weighs too much, she feels weightless. Every breath is a breeze.

Hicks glances to her, a careful, concerning glance, always checking to make sure she’s alright. He watches her with those old, green eyes contrasting his young features. Somewhere in them, she sees the boy who was one day, all too soon, forced to grow up too fast...the boy who cared for others before himself, growing to the man he was today, in this moment. The one with a strong heart and strong soul. Those eyes are full of love. 

Leaning against him, she lets the rhythmic hum of his comforting breath and ship lull her to slumber. She rests. 

*~*~*~*~*

If Hicks earned a dime every time he heard luck wasn’t keen with him throughout his life, he’d be wealthier than the riches of Karl Weyland and Hideo Yutani combined. 

_Bad draw of the cards, kid._ Some would say. _Maybe god’ll be easier on you in the next life_. Another sagging frown. _Well shit. Tough call._ Pat on the head. This one put all others to shame at the impressionable age of ten years old: _stop crying goddamnit and man up!_

Eventually, Hicks found a philosophy everyone could agree with: the lucky guy is the one with a life. The luckiest of them all is one with love. 

They had both fallen asleep beside him almost immediately. Ripley was warm resting on his shoulder. Newt passed out after staying awake half the night quietly overboiling with excitement, maps, planet earth diagrams and coloring books still strewn about her. She still clutched a plush tabby cat to her chest. The thing caught Hicks’s eye in a passing vendor after the headache-inducing debriefing at goddamn Gateway, its large golden eyes begging at him. What the hell. It was the least he could do for her, and he had to admit: it was damn cute. The toy was practically the stuffed twin of Jones (the poor shithead in his travel tote finally stopped yowling after the fourth hour of the trip). Hicks deeply hoped she dreamed of hope, or some tender concept of it, anything other than the terrors they left behind. He was sure she did. The brave kiddo didn’t have many bad dreams anymore, thank God.

_So much for guarding your heart, Ma._

Hicks pressed a hand to Ripley’s chest. The rhythm was strong and even against the palm of his hand--rounding, even, beautiful. Then he passed to Newt’s, hers soft yet as mighty as a survivor. Both hearts carried such extreme weight, with terrors unspeakable, it was a miracle they hadn’t cracked in two. The darkness could not invade them even at the peak of their losses.

 _She’s here. With me. Ellen Ripley chose me: a goddamn grunt._ His own pumping vessel rose--evidence he was indeed living. Wasn’t there an old song Pa used to sing? About a lucky man. _..ooh, what a lucky man, he was._

Pa always said, “ _count your blessings, Dwayney,”_ Every evening he would get on his worn knees and thank the Lord for all they’ve got, and milk and bread were luxuries. 

“Family. Love. It’s all a man ever needs in his life anyway. Don’t you forget that. _”_ Most days, meals were rice and beans: voila, the almighty pair that satisfies breakfast, lunch and dinner. It was enough that most nights, Hicks and his brother wouldn’t go to bed with their stomachs howling as loud as wolves on the fullest moon. Kids don’t know rich from poor, but they know hunger’s cruel bite. Eventually, Hicks grew used to the absence of starvation’s gnawing pain.

“What about you, Pa? _”_ He’d ask, but his father’s answer would always be a smile--a grand, gentle smile wrinkling his scarred face. Mama would rest her tired hands on his shoulders, rubbing them gently; how he leaned into her movement...

Sure, his father feigned dieting. “ _It’s good for you boy, eat it._ ” But the smile was all it took for the worry to wash away in wondrous innocence. It said all the words you needed to hear. That everything would be alright somehow. That no one would be hungry, not for long. Pa would make it right. Hicks’s chest ached. He massaged it with the heel of his hand only to find it wasn’t the burn. 

Newt gently shifted in her seat, letting out a soft sigh of a sleeping exhale. _I get it now, Pa._ Hicks leaned over and carefully adjusted her blue blanket. Sometimes it was like looking into a mirror, seeing the reflection of his orphaned eight year old self: lost, bewildered, sorrowful, angry, but most of all scared shitless. Sometimes it was so close he didn’t know whether to laugh or weep at the God given coincidence.

How in any given moment, he would strip himself bare of all he had, sleepless nights filled with an empty belly, he didn’t fucking care. After all, the USCM prepared him well enough. The human body’s will to live is impressive when it is put up to the test. Every mission held its mysteries and the unreliability that you might not make it through; of course, you never forget what’s at stake. Life and death _._ But none of them could have imagined what they would encounter on that god-forsaken planet. _Stupid colonists fucking up their power my ass._ How could they have been so ignorant? But how could they have known…

Ripley arose with a start. With dewy eyes still glazed over with sleep, she glanced around, tense against him. Was this a force of habit? If it was, now it was his priority to break it. Hicks took her hand, and at his touch, she softened a little. 

“Hey," he whispered. "It’s alright. We’re still a few hours away. Why don’t you close your eyes again?” 

Ripley started to smile at him, then it disappeared into a concerned frown. “What about you? Are you in any pain?” 

“I’m fine. Just can’t sleep.” That was mostly honest. The prescription kept him up, oddly making everything feel ten times worse. The very thought of eating disturbed his insides, sudden movements making the world spin, but the pain wasn’t nearly as chatty as before. He counted down the days until he could rid himself of the facial bandages. And the pills. 

Ripley didn’t look too convinced but didn’t press him, tenderly brushing his hair away from his good eye. At her touch, Hicks's heart gave a light flip. Just like that, she melted him.

“I’ve been meaning to ask you...how did you manage to sleep on that combat drop?” Ripley rested her head back on his shoulder. 

“A good marine gets his shut-eye whenever he can.” Hicks broke out into a dumbstruck grin. “So you _were_ looking at me.”

Ripley closed her eyes, a grin in her voice. “Don’t get cocky, _Sergeant._ Everyone was.” 

The battered but not broken marine planted a kiss on her head, dark curls tickling his chin. Her scent filled him, patchouli and warmth. Comfort.

The Landing Sight from visor window beside them was in clear view, the brilliant sun rising over the southern mountains into an orange haze smothering the sky into a wildfire of clouds. He watched the golden light brighten their soft faces in repose. Life never promised safety, or happiness, good times, or love. In their journey, the lucky ones happen to stroll upon it, bless them. One can only hope and pray.

Hicks held her hand, the entire world in his palm.

@cutemarines

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My dearest friend @cutemarines on Tumblr created the most gorgeous and adorable drawing of Newt with her little Jonesy plushie, perfect for this chapter!!! <3 <3 <3 She has loads of beautiful creations of our favorite space couple and family!!! Go check their page out, they are absolutely amazing!!! :) <3 <3 <3
> 
> To those who are still with this story, from the bottom of my heart I thank you! More chapters coming soon!


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